


One Midsummer Night's Dream

by shadhahvar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Everyone's a Fairy Here, I'm not even sure what to call this but there we go, Ice Show Acting AU, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Midsummer Night's Dream, Not Shakespearean Canon Compliant (Thanks Yuuri), Post Four Continents & European Championships, Pre Worlds, Still Competitive in Men's Singles Figure Skating, Young Katsuki Yuuri, Young Victor Nikiforov, Young Yuri Plisetsky, and it's some kind of industry standard for Mysterious Reasons, our caveat is: for some reason they all did an ice show together when they were much younger, primarily Yuuri's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 16:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11211576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar
Summary: Yuuri first saw Victor auditioning for a role in the ice production ofMidsummer Night's Dreamwhen he was twelve.  Fastforward over a decade into the future, when Yuuri finds himself remembering that first meeting and his subsequent shift into competitive men's singles figure skating, and dreams himself into the middle of the Fairy Woods, where Victor is both Puck and Oberon, and Yuuri is mystified to see his young self as Peaseblossom while at twenty four, he's taken on the role of Titania.And then he goes off script.Inspired by theJuly 2017 季刊S magazine cover artreferencingMidsummer Night's Dream.





	One Midsummer Night's Dream

Yuuri tightened the laces on his skates, standing at the boards and falling in line behind the other fairies heading out on the ice. The director was already frowning, watching everyone mill out and fan into their sections as if she was going down a mental checklist and finding everyone coming up lacking. Lilia was a difficult woman to please.

His stomach was unsettled, making it hard for him to eat until after the dress rehearsal ended, but trying now would leave him rushing for the bathroom. He squared his shoulders, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the gossamer wings at his back. He resisted an urge to look back over his shoulder, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he rolled his shoulders and looked down. The ice was fresh for the time being. He felt a thrill of excitement as he glided toward where he and the rest of Titania’s fairies were gathered. The young boy cast as Mustardseed, barely five, was already waiting at their designated gather point, arms crossed over his chest. His own wings rose high over his slight shoulders; he glanced up at Yuuri, opening his mouth, then closing it again.

“It’s cold. I wanna _move_.”

In the immense wisdom of his twelve years, Yuuri nodded, offering the younger Yuri a small smile. He could feel his wings fluttering at his back as he came to a stop, blades on the ice a familiar, comforting hiss. “Did you want to practice the fairy’s dance?”

Yuri the younger considered this proposal, brow furrowing in the intensity of his thoughts. He nodded after a moment, uncrossing his arms and holding a hand out to Yuuri. “Don’t fall this time,” he said, the older Yuuri wincing and forcing himself to smile even brighter. With his eyes closed, the expression almost looked genuine.

_Brat._

The familiarity of their choreo relaxed both of them, Mustardseed-Yuri frowning as Peaseblossom-Yuuri picked up speed and dared the simplest of jumps, landing with a grin and a cheeky wave. Yuri’s cheeks puffed up and he determinedly threw himself into a bunny hop, flashing Yuuri a grin of his own when he managed to keep his feet. 

Lilia’s voice over her megaphone called them all to order, Yuuri finding Yuri’s hand in his as they came to a stop with the other fairies. Yuko turned her head, flashing him a small smile that he returned before they were all facing forward, listening to their directions for the afternoon. They’d be running through the play top to bottom on half the rink, while the other side was for those not presently in scene to work on their choreographies and line delivery. Yuuri kept missing his cues concentrating on how he skated; he was determined to master his timing today.

Yuri, paradoxically, was the only one to have consistently gotten his timing _right_. “They’re just words,” he offered Yuuri, giving him a serious look, far too serious for his age. “All you have to do is say them.”

Yuuri wished it were as simple as he made it sound, but he was polite enough to nod his head and pretend to give Yuri’s words consideration. He tuned him out entirely as they ran through their dance, weaving around each other with Titania making lazy turns and spins in the middle. It looked much more complicated in motion than it was in truth, but either way, he wanted to get it right. _Better_ than right. He wanted to be the most graceful, beautiful young fairy out here, in no small part because of the teenager currently skating on the other side of the rink: Victor Nikiforov. 

At sixteen, Victor was already taking the performance skating world by storm, but Yuuri hadn’t known any of that when he’d caught the tail end of Viktor’s audition skate, pressing himself up against the boards to watch him through his camel spin. Competitive skaters were often recruited or requested by sponsors to join various productions, but Yuuri wouldn’t know that until later. That afternoon, so soon after arriving, all Yuuri had eyes for was the mesmerizing strength and surety of his movements; the expression on his face as he came out of his standing spin, arms sweeping out to his sides and eyes opening with a bright, palpable energy. There was such joy in Victor as he skated, beautiful and laughing as he came to a stop in an exaggerated bow.

Yuuri’s heart had never beat so fast outside of when he’d been skating before then. He felt much the same when he chanced a look over toward the active side of the rink, catching sight of a flash of silver hair and brown. He hadn’t seen Victor’s costume yet in full, only glimpses between the others. He had to focus on what he was doing too much to stop and stare, though the compulsion was near overwhelming.

Not quite overwhelming his deep-seated, burning desire to impress Victor, however implausible it seemed. He skated after that the only way he knew how: hard work and diligence. It didn’t pay off anywhere near the speed that he’d prefer, but he was making headway. Not fast enough to leave an impression on the older teen, and yet. And yet.

Yuuri clenched his hands into determined fists, breathing in and out to calm himself. It didn’t work, but his nerves weren’t the problem, overwhelmed and drowned out by his focus as he and the fairies were granted the “open” stage.

The step sequences had them moving in pairs, circling around Titania and timing their triples toe loops to the musical cues paired with her speaking lines. The music was easier to track, and as he and Yuko lifted off and landed, wings fluttering and tugging at the straps they were attached to underneath his shirt, he smiled, feeling almost like he was flying.

Titania sent her fairies off, reclining on the decorated sled draped in fabric flowers as she went to sleep. Yuuri was still smiling as he followed the other fairies off to the far end of the ice, slowing down to let Yuri cut in front of him and make his way for the boards and the older man waiting there for him. Yuri’s grandfather was at every rehearsal without fail, something Yuuri thought might have to do with Yuri’s age more than anything else. He still wasn’t sure why Yuri was involved, but he was talented and remarkably focused for someone his age. He’d be formidable when he was older if he continued pursuing figure and performance skating. Who was to say if he would or not?

Yuuri slowed down, brushing his hair back off his forehead as he squinted. He thought he saw Yuko skating back his way. He could tell by the colour of her outfit and the way she waved, calling out his name as she pulled to a stop.

“Yuuri, I’ve brought your glasses! We’re supposed to stretch and take a water break.”

She set his glasses into his cupped palms, rewarded by his shy smile of appreciation, different from the smile of exhilaration that overtook him on the ice. He’d managed to land every jump during this run, leaving him in a rare mood of not quite _confidence_ so much as momentary _contentment_.

It would pass, and he would fret, and push, and drive himself harder, but for now it was a pleasant space to linger in. “Thanks. I’ll be there soon?”

Yuko nodded, giving him a smart, flat handed salute and a wink. She knew he’d be along, and asking why would only lead to him stumbling through a non-answer. It made it easier to follow and exist alongside her, from practice to off the ice too. He couldn’t say he had the same ease with Takeshi, but they were a far cry removed from when he used to tease Yuuri about his tendency to gain weight. 

Putting his glasses on, Yuuri glanced around the far side of the rink. While the Athenian lovers were making their way across the ice, skating through step sequences meant to indicate the tangle of trees they moved through, serpentining around each other, he was hoping for a good look at the skater he so admired. Movement to his left pulled his head around, and he gasped, eyes widening, cheeks pinking at the sight of Victor skating past. His soft, “Wah!” was enough to draw Victor’s attention, the older teenager turning his head and pulling to a deft stop with a small smile. He turned to square off with Yuuri, winking as he lifted the draping end of the fabric vine curled around his shoulder.

“It’s not as cold as it looks,” he said, letting out a light huff of laughter as he exhaled. “Kind of surprising though, right? I expected all of this to be sheer, and then it’s just spirit gum and silk leaves.”

Yuuri reached for anything to say, finding his mind a blank with Victor looking straight at him. He wanted to say something, about how Victor’s skating inspired him, but the words were all a jumble, coming out as, “You’re wonderful,” and a nod, Yuuri’s shoulders firming as he slid closer. He reached out to take Victor’s hands in his, tugging him down a little by merit of their differences in height. He so desperately wanted to explain exactly how wonderful Victor was, how his skating was awe inspiring, how Yuuri couldn’t imagine anyone more graceful on the ice.

He imagined himself saying any of these things. What he actually said while wearing that determination, the colour high in his cheeks, went more like this:

“Please marry me!”

* * *

Yuuri shook his head, blinking down at the coffee cup he held in his hands. What an odd memory to have resurface eleven years later. He’d been in a smattering of ice shows since then, but most of his pursuit of figure skating and Victor Nikiforov’s shadow had led him to the competitive circuit. An area he’d been maybe passable in on a good day, but by and large an area where he was nothing special. Average, in his own words. It was mostly coincidence that he was the only currently active seniors division Japanese skater competing on an international level.

Maybe less of a coincidence now, but he attributed that more to Victor’s support than any inherent talent on his part. He still wasn’t sure how in the world he’d ended up with his longtime idol as his one-on-one coach, but that reality had stared him in the face and woken up far too bright eyed and bushy tailed when _not_ hungover for months on end for Yuuri to doubt any longer. Victor Nikiforov had integrated himself as part of Yuuri’s life, and Yuuri, in turn, had paid him back in the best way he knew how.

Skating. Getting back up after each fall and training harder; looking to find new ways to surprise Victor, for the simple joy of showing him _this is what you’ve given me._ The confidence to tackle a quad flip in competition, knowing he had a low chance of landing it clean. The pressure of someone else he was letting down by not succeeding, but in turn, the pleasure of being the one person who’d managed to make Victor look his way. The world had held Victor for years; and Yuuri had been the one to take him away from the world.

He supposed that might be a slightly different truth now that they were both competing, caught in the difficult, draining tumultuous truth of how improbable it was for anyone to be coaching and competing in the same division simultaneously. Victor worked himself harder and drove himself with an eye and demand for perfectionism that Yuuri both appreciated and grated against when his commendable reserves wore down. The adjustment it’d taken to grow used to Yakov’s style of coaching had been unsettling at first, but he’d shared rinks with coaches just as loud in the past. He came to appreciate Yakov’s commendable patience behind all the bluster, particularly as he also came to realise he and Victor shared a few key traits as skaters.

Such as their blatant disregard for their coach’s suggestions if they went contrary to what they felt they _needed_ to do for themselves. Victor had laughed when Yuuri confessed that to him on the couch the night he’d realised, setting aside the article he’d been reading on his laptop to stare wide eyed at the man he couldn’t find any one label to summarise. “We’re both incredibly stubborn,” he said as if it were a revelation. Victor had tapped his finger on his chin, lips curling up at the corners. 

“It’s how we got to be here.”

Yuuri hadn’t been able to find a good reason to disagree.

He was further pulled out of his thoughts as Victor leaned in, snaking an arm around his waist. “You’ve been quiet. Searching for something? You don’t have quite the right sparkle in your eye…”

Yuuri shook his head, turning his face toward Victor with a small, apologetic smile. Victor certainly had a flair for turns of a phrase. “No, not really. I’m sorry. I was remembering something from a long time ago.” Holding up his coffee, he let his smile even out into something stronger. “The coffee should help me focus. What were you saying?”

Victor studied his face, smiling for a moment before launching into his breakdown of their training schedule for the afternoon. That morning they were going to work off ice: the rink was open to the public for those hours, and they had other aspects of training to focus on in the meantime.

The race on toward Worlds was on them, following after their successes at their respective national competitions. Victor was using his programs from the prior season, switching elements around in both of his programs to push their difficulty levels higher. It was debatable how much that’d helped in Russia’s nationals, his score managing to eek out Yuri’s while neither one of them managed to beat a world record. Yuuri had decided against the trying the quad flip in his short program, though he still practiced with it included. He’d been saving that for the Four Continents, when Victor would be able to attend properly as his coach.

Yuuri had flown out to the European Championships after investigating if there were any local rinks he could negotiate for practice time on outside of the location of the championships. It’d felt strange attending a competition he wasn’t involved with, but it’d been worth it for the intensity of the joy in Victor’s eyes when he found him waiting at the kiss and cry. In a reverse of so much of their relationship as coach and student, he’d held open his arms, Victor laughing as he threw himself forward and swept Yuuri up into a rib-crushing hug. Yuuri had firmly refused to sit with Victor and Yakov while they waited for results. Victor’s preoccupation and the way his fingers slipped under his thigh to dig into the material of the bench caught at Yuuri’s attention, tugging his lips down into a frown.

He sat with Victor and Yakov after his free skate. He made the move to hold Victor’s hand first. Yuuri still wasn’t sure if that made him feel more brave or stupid, but he forgot soon after, when VIctor’s brief squeeze of gratitude set Yuuri’s heart thumping uncomfortably loud in his chest.

He’d done better at Four Continents than he’d half-feared, as if all the hard work and effort on both their parts might be swept out to sea as soon as he set foot in South Korea. He’d managed to bring in and land the quad flip in his short program, earning his highest score in _Eros_ yet, but the first half of his freeskate had felt off. His nerves had been hard to get under control, though he’d picked himself up and wrestled through to the end, pulling off a silver he didn’t fully feel like he’d earned.

Which boiled down to long, hard days and too few precious hours stolen here and there with both Victor and Makkachin. Curled up on the couch together, hair slow to dry after their showers, Makkachin draped over their laps was as close to restive as Yuuri had come in weeks. Enough so that he was drooping without realising, leaning in to Victor and yawning as he let his head rest against Victor’s shoulder. 

“Tired?”

Yuuri grunted, finding his words after a second or two. “Resting my eyes. ‘S different.”

“Ah, of course, of course.” Victor’s clever fingers stroked over Yuuri’s hair, smoothing the chaotic mess he adored into a semblance of short-lived order. He continued the motion, studying videos on his phone with the audio down low, until he heard Yuuri’s breathing even out into something deep and regular. Glancing at him sideways, Victor smiled, tugging Yuuri’s glasses off his face to set on the side table. Yuuri was dead to the world as he was gathered into Victor’s arms with a grunt and groan of effort, carried off to the guest bedroom that’d become his since he moved to St. Petersburg. It’d been a study before, the bookshelves still lingering only arranged with Yuuri’s things now. Covered also in Victor’s gifts to Yuuri, largely unasked for; mementos from home that Victor had sent for after a particularly long conversation with Hiroko over the phone.

Yuuri’s silver medals watched him from glass fronted boxes hung on the walls. There was a space let between them, at a higher level. Neither one of them mentioned it more than the once. It was the stated challenge, the one both of them rose to: going toe to toe on the ice, pushing each other beyond their limits to see where they ended up. More and more likely Victor’s last hurrah, though he might make it to a second Olympic season yet.

All of those thoughts had fled Yuuri’s mind as sleep had claimed him. Tucked into his narrow bed by Victor, he registered little more than a chill that followed him into the strange landscape of his dreams.

The next thing Yuuri knew was dappled moonlight peering through heavily forest branches, painting the forest floor beneath his feet in a kaleidoscope of shadow and light. He stood under the trees near the edge of a meadow that felt familiar despite looking like nothing he’d recognise in a waking moment. A brook babbled somewhere in the middle distance, a lyrical sound that drew Yuuri out of the dappled light and into the waving grasses of the meadow, dew kissed and fragrant with the memories of a summer day’s warmth.

He stretched out his hand to run it over the tops of the tallest grasses, feeling it brush against his sides, tugging at his clothes. Sheer sleeves flecked with pin sized diamonds and topaz banded over his wrist and above his elbow, connecting to the shoulders of a light green doublet patterned after interlocking leaves. There were flowers, beautiful and alive, clustered over his right shoulder, trailing down in a thinning diagonal line toward the top of his left hip. There, the flowers met a gathering of material that wrapped his hip, flowing loose down to his knee. Imprints of flowers and the shimmer of the same tiny, imperfect diamonds and topaz from his sleeves could be found nestled in the folds of the chiffon-like fabric trailing at his side. 

Yuuri tipped his head back, the weight of the crown of flowers he knew to be there feeling pleasant and lovely; a piece of a puzzle that was exactly where it belonged. He spun around, eyes flashing with that knowledge, startling several of the smaller fairies in his retinue into scattering around with a smattering of their own laughter. His wings lifted off his back, a beautiful, translucent blue that looked almost navy in the light of the crescent moon and the twinkling of far-off stars.

He was dancing before he knew it, ringed by fairies no larger than children and young teen, like he’d once been. A flash of lighter hair caught his eye, and he twirled, coming to a temporary stop as he glanced down at the perfect image of Yuri at five, his small, delicate butterfly wings fluttering as he cavorted past. It was surprising enough that Yuuri stood still, caught in his momentary disbelief, wings lowering, fingers twitching at his sides.

He was in motion soon after, scanning the fairies that dance and spun around him, calling to the moon and to the flowers and to every part of nature. There — he was sure of it. A flash of lighter blue, he glint of light off glasses, and Yuuri found himself staring after a vision of himself at twelve going on thirteen. He remembered the vine that curled around one arm and down his front, snaking over his stomach, partly down his leg.

There was no hint of ice here, only the strong wish for summer,and yet he knew with startling clarity exactly who he was meant to be. It was an easy acceptance, even as his eyes lifted and he saw the twin figured waiting for him some five meters away. Yuko, her butterfly wings trembling in distress and her own preoccupation, and Victor, the white flowers in his crown seeming to be made of the moonlight itself. A sixteen year old Puck, his blunt, short horns jutting out to the sides of his head. He wore bark like shorts, stopping just short of his knees. Leaves in different shades of what he remembered being browns and reds and green circled his hips; vines and berries draped like a sash across his front, curling around over his opposite shoulder. His hair was silver in the starlight, pulled back and bound in a tail that spilled down over his back and shoulders.

Yuuri felt his heart ache. Unaccountable, but as he gazed upon Victor, all he could think was that he looked so young. Lovely, as beautiful as Yuuri remembered him being at that age, but less steady, slimmer, than the Victor he knows now. Only a year older than Yuri Plisetsky.

They were all so young, once upon a time.

He picked up his feet, and he strode on, catching the tail end of what Yuko said to Victor. _No,_ he amended, watching the artless, mischievous expression that slid across Victor’s face, _Puck_.

“... Would that he were gone!” She spun away, wings shivering as she darted away, beyond Yuuri. He watched her until she disappeared beyond his shoulder, redirecting his attention forward, seeing at last the approach of the tall figure emerging from the shadows of the trees on the far side.

He didn’t know what he expected. The Oberon he remembered from his childhood, perhaps. The man wearing tights as snug fitting as Yuuri’s carried himself with the confidence of one who knows and trusts in his own body, knowing he won’t step wrong. A crown of leaves and flowers rested on top of hair that gathered starlight close, twinkling as he moved. Sheer sleeves banded like those Yuuri wore, leading to a vest that appeared sewn from leaves. The collar sported a more generous collection of an assortment of greenery, following the V of the neck and extending further, down toward his navel. The whole of his vest and the leaves stopped short of meeting the top of his tights, trimmed in soft white rabbit fur. A forbidden expanse of skin peered out, close enough that if Yuuri only reached, he might run his fingers over the line of his hip. This was Victor, the Victor Yuuri woke to find puttering around the kitchens most mornings muttering about tea, coming to a stop in front of him, resting an elegant hand on one cocked hip and smiling.

 _Oberon._ Yuuri knew it, even as he knew what Victor would be saying; even as he vaguely remembered everything that Titania and Oberon spoke on and argued over during the course of a play he’d performed in eleven years ago.

He didn’t have to think. The words flowed as if memorised, a dance of its own. Oberon and his demands, Titania and her refusals. Their parting of ways, and Yuuri’s bewilderment giving way to a sense of correctness. He knew how this played out. He knew the end of this story.

Yet as he asked his fairies to dance, watching them cavort and sing, lulling him to a rest he didn’t crave, he felt his anxiety building. He curled up in his bower of flowers and snakeskin, shed from a snake so large he could use it like a comforter, he felt his throat start to close and his eyes sting. Oberon wasn’t Victor, and yet he was, on some level. Yuuri’s envisioning of Victor, a memory and an invention after the unexpected recollection earlier in the day.

A dream where he knew he was dreaming, but where he felt powerless to stop it. The comedy would play out its course, and it would end, as all such things do, in a marriage. Of purpose, and of three couples, all parading around the very forest in which he closed his eyes.

When his awareness returned, he fought to keep his eyes closed. He reached out with his hands, patting the ground around him, finding the trunk of a tree to guide his movement to his feet. If he didn’t look, he wouldn’t have to love. If he could keep his eyes closed, he’d preserve what he already had. He’d keep that control; Oberon wouldn’t wrest it away from him.

He didn’t want to stop loving Victor, or Oberon, or whatever he was in Yuuri’s head. Not even in a dream. He didn’t know all of what Victor was to him, but he knew what he wanted to hold on to; he knew what he didn’t want to give up. He reached for the ring around his finger, but his fingers found nothing. Yuuri almost opened his eyes in a blind panic, heart lurching in his chest. “The ring? Oh no, it can’t be lost, how could it have come off without me knowing?” Desperately he sunk back down to his knees, patting around the bower of flowers and moss and papery soft snakeskin blanket. It took him minutes to realise he never had one here. This wasn’t real: his ring was still there, wherever the rest of him was.

He sat down, pressing the heels of his hands to his closed eyes. He fought off the urge to cry as his concentrated on getting his breathing even, ignoring the faint ache of pain from his wings pressed awkwardly against the tree at his back. None of his fairies were around, all sleeping beyond the outskirts of where he sat now.

He sat like that, listening to the arrival of each of the four Athenians. It was a confusion of voices: Lysander sounded like Mila, Hermia like Sara. Helena, when she arrived, sounded like Emil, gently concerned for the safety of Mila where she lay. Demetrius barreled in making demands, sounding all the world like Michele. They argued, they complimented, they insulted in ways that Yuuri cringed away from with a hidden grimace. It wasn’t comfortable hearing that vitriol, scripted or otherwise.

Yuuri left his head pressed against his knees, arms wrapped around his legs. He listened, and he heard, and he was tempted to try and see, but he didn’t want to take unhappy chances. He rocked himself, waiting for the voices to die down before he stood. Oberon would seek him out sooner or later. The night could only last so long, and the problem of Puck’s inattentiveness, borne of Oberon’s glossing of fine detail, was soon to be made apparent. All he had to do was have patience.

Patience was not the same as holding still. Yuuri found his way out of the bower, rousing his fairies along the way. He sent them off, asking for them to find Oberon and bring him back. Making demands with a curtness in his voice that he didn’t know existed, moving each careful foot forward, arms out to his side. Every step forward was chanced, his progress slow, aided at times by this or that fairy who had returned from their forays into civilized company for the express purpose of stealing.

He moved in this careful way, listening for and avoiding the singing chatter of an ass, only to find his hand brushing up against something warm and soft, giving under his surprised touch. 

“Hello?”

He received no answer at first, only a soft hand catching Yuuri’s and bringing it up to rest over Yuuri’s breastbone.

“My lord wanders wanders the forest with eyes shut tight, stumbling around like a newborn foal. Why is this? What mischief could he be up to?”

“Victor —” Yuuri lifted his free hand to his chest, feeling for the curve of his neck, moving his hand higher. Tracing his fingers along Victor’s jawbone, until a gentle press of his thumb to Victor’s lips helped identify him in Yuuri’s mind. Mimicry of voices was a fairy talent, he thought.

His eyes opened to meet Oberon’s gaze. Yuuri’s chest contracted, moving through a sharp spike of happiness to one of sadness, followed close after by anger. He leaned in, almost nose to nose with his fairy king. “What mischief am I up to? Try asking yourself! I don’t care if the damn play is supposed to go this way. Did you stop to think maybe I’m angry with you for a reason? Even if I’m not, _you_ don’t get to decide if my heart or any other part of me wants to leave you! When I asked you to _stay by my side_ it meant I’d stay by _your_ side too!” 

Oberon’s mouth opened, eyes widening into an expression of distress that Yuuri had seen on those features at least once before. One nervous hand and both uncertain wings fluttered behind Oberon, the arrogance that had decided him on his course of action cracking under the onslaught of of Yuuri’s anger and the tears that finally spilled down his cheeks. 

“My love, my lord, my sweet,” Oberon said, tightening his hold on the hand over Yuuri’s breastbone, “You know it was a jest. I would never have left you infatuated with whatever monster crossed your path —”

“ _I know_!” He pulled away, shaking Oberon’s hand off his. “I have a hard enough time dealing with how I feel on a daily basis, I’m used to that. Having to worry if it’s all just made up, if any of it is _real_ or lasting, if you want anything to do with me even when we fight while things are getting tougher… you can be a petty jackass, you know that?” Yuuri rubbed the back of his wrist over his eyes, smearing around his tears. His lips firmed into a thin line, his arm dropping down before he reached out to take hold of Oberon’s hand. “We’re fixing this.”

“Beg pardon?” Oberon didn’t offer resistance as Yuuri led him away, marching after the Athenians who had disappeared back into the forest. “You mean the human lovers? Puck has the antidote. He’s been instructed to use it on Lysander and no one else.”

“Puck was also instructed to use it on the Athenian in the first place.”

He sighed, dramatic, and held up his other hand. “If you’ll feel better with both of us checking...”

“I do,” he said, simple as that. And he was true to his word. Yuuri waited for each Athenian to return to the gates of their city, verifying that things were in the proper kind of sorts. There they stayed, part of the happy crowd and proceedings for the triple wedding that was to take place. The feasting was expansive, the musicians lovely, the dancing went on through the night, and the play was so tastefully horrendous that everyone laughed at the terrible content.

It was, all things told, a rather lovely time.

* * *

He woke up suddenly with the music of marriage heavy on his mind, an anxious nudge at plans he’d been turning over in his head for months by now. Suddenly it seemed less important to find the one perfect moment, or to second guess before even first figuring out what they both wanted. 

He needed to address that while he felt the courage to do so.

Yuuri sat up, struggling out of his sheets and comforter, falling to the floor with a thump. His shoulder hit first, then the rest of his side, gravity helping him scramble free from his bedding. He clamored to his feet, taking steady breaths as he started for the door. He went straight to Victor’s room, barely noting the hour was early enough that Victor would still be asleep in bed. All that mattered was finding him that instant, seeing his face and knowing they were both here, really here.

“Victor?” Yuuri called out by the door, slipping inside into the moonlit room. He padded to Victor’s bedside, sitting himself on the mattress and hooking one leg up on the bed proper. He reached for Victor, gentle but insistent as he shook his shoulder. “Victor, are you awake?”

His answer was an indistinguishable groan, resolving into a mumble that sounded like an affirmative as Victor started to push himself up onto his elbows. He blinked up at Yuuri, scooting to the side so he could flip the switch on one of his bed lights. Both of them recoiled from the light, stars dancing across the back of Yuuri’s eyelids. 

“I’m up, I’m up.” Victor stifled a yawn before he pushed himself up to a proper seated position. “Yuuri, is something going on?”

Was there something going on? Yuuri felt his determination, the overwhelming tapestry of his love and admiration, the part of his heart and soul that depended on Victor being part of his life to be as full as they could possibly manage. He leaned forward, capturing Victor’s hands with his own, holding them up to his chest. There were so many things he wanted to tell Victor if he could find the words. That he was amazing and human. He was a genius with blind spots. He was wonderful, flawed, astonishing. Loving and easier to love than Yuuri had ever suspected.

He said none of those things. Instead, he said, “Victor, please marry me!” while staring Victor in his face, trying to meet his tired, confused gaze. Victor’s eyes brightened as understanding hit, and Victor leaned forward, half dragging Yuuri into his lap while pulling him into a hug.

“I feel like I’ve been waiting near half my life for you to ask that again,” he confessed, talking by Yuuri’s ear. Yuuri startled, pulling his head back enough to get a good look at Victor’s face. The fondness in his eyes and the curve of his lips was enough to make Yuuri’s heart ache. He smiled, tremulous, overwhelmed by a surge of affection.

“Half your life?”

“Mm.” Victor nodded, eyes still on Yuuri’s. “It’s only a little bit of an exaggeration.”

“You remember what I said when I was twelve?” He leaned forward, groaning as he buried his face against Victor’s neck. “We only worked on that one ice show together.”

“I know. You made an impression,” he said, chuckling. The sound vibrated through his chest, a pleasant sort of thrumming sensation against Yuuri. “Hard to forget the first time someone proposed to you.”

“ _I was twelve_ ,” he complained against Victor’s neck. Victor shivered, ticklish, and patted Yuuri’s back consolingly.

“Yes, you were. Do you remember what I said back then?” Victor waited for some confirmation from Yuuri. It took a moment, Yuuri trying to dredge the rest of that memory up from his mind. When he did, he nodded his head, breathing in sharp and closer to laughing than anything else.

Eleven years ago, Yuuri Katsuki, age 12, had asked Victor Nikiforov, age 16, to please marry him. Eleven years ago, Victor Nikiforov had blinked through his surprise, then smiled, leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to Yuuri’s cheek.

_“Wow, that’s really flattering for you to ask. I’m too young for marriage right now, but how about this? If you still feel that way after you’re an adult, ask me again. Then I’ll give you a proper answer.”_

Victor left his arms folded around Yuuri’s middle, resting his head against Yuuri’s head. “I meant it. And since I think you qualify as an adult right now, I can see about getting you and answer.” He gave Yuuri a squeeze, pulling his head back to try and get a look at his face. “Yes. Yes, Katsuki Yuuri, I _will_ marry you.”

Yuuri felt himself smile, beaming at the headboard behind Victor’s shoulder until he pulled his head back far enough to beam directly at Victor. His happiness and the different kind of worry that flowed alongside it was overwhelming; his eyes teared up, happy. “Okay. Good, I, that’s really great. Oh God, Victor, you really mean it? You want to get married?” Yuuri gestured to himself, flat of his palm against his breastbone. “To me?”

Victor gave Yuuri a solemn look, nodding his head slow and deliberate. “Yes. I want to marry you, Yuuri. Just you. I do have one question for right now, though?”

Yuuri nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak. His joy was making it difficult. 

“Can we go back to bed for another two hours and talk about this more in the morning?” The whine was just petulant enough that Yuuri burst into choked laughter, nodding his head and only hesitating a moment when Victor held up the corner of his comforter in invitation. Yuuri slid into the warmth of his bed, carefully arranging himself at Victor’s side, only to promptly be cuddled up to with Victor’s arm draping across his waist.

“G’night, fiance.”

Yuuri buried his face against Victor’s shoulder, smiling with his happiness. The rest of the concerns would creep in during the later morning hours. For now, he could choose to enjoy this moment for what it was. A surprising life-changer that Phichit had already called as happening once.

“Goodnight, Oberon.”

“... I was Puck in that play,” Victor muttered after a moment.

Yuuri shifted closer, letting his eyes close. “Something like that,” he agreed, and in that mutual quiet, they both drifted back to softer dreams, Makkachin breathing even and deep from where he sprawled at the foot of Victor’s bed.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is dedicated to Kamilah, who does not, as it turns out, have any kind of AO3 account. Gentle fist shake!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this silly little fic spinning out of the outpouring of fanart following the 季刊S magazine cover release. You could surely have an in depth adaptation, but goodness! No one here wants to see that from me. Just imagine the amateur theatre AU that could be, or the professional one that almost was. Or imagine everyone actually being slammed into Fairyland and all the antics that would inevitably ensue.
> 
> If you did enjoy the read, please leave me a comment letting me know! It's always great to know people are enjoying what you've thrown out into the virtual world. You can find me on twitter @shadhahvar for general writing updates, and are free to leave suggestions for things you'd like to read as one-offs in the future. Have a wonderful day!


End file.
